


New Warmth to Weave in Your Garden of Shine

by DarkPoisonousLove



Category: Winx Club
Genre: Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Kinda, Kissing, Married Couple, Married Life, New Year's Eve, Pre-Canon, Presents, Some insinuations, Traditions, Worldbuilding, if you blink you'll miss it but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28459860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkPoisonousLove/pseuds/DarkPoisonousLove
Summary: New year is coming hand in hand with the cold of the season and the responsibilities even a celebration brings for a king and queen. Amidst the chaos and strict decorum it's Erendor and Samara's concern to find the time to welcome each other in their shared future.
Relationships: Erendor/Samara (Winx Club)
Comments: 2





	New Warmth to Weave in Your Garden of Shine

**Author's Note:**

> I had to write one last fic to send off the year and since this one was the only one that cooperated, you get New Year on Eraklyon. I like the way this turned out as I feel like it is a peaceful (while sufficiently dramatic) ending to a very frantic year and also incorporated some of my wishes for a better next year. Here's to hoping!

Samara’s body begrudgingly stumbled after him in his misstep slipping into an unnatural disruption of her graceful and calculated movements. Losing balance not his own would have dragged him down and left him splayed out on the floor if not for her dignified posture becoming the spine holding him above the stream of panicked shame spilling out of him under the pokes of the crown everyone’s gazes drove in him like a sheaf of spears. A weakness was only fully fledged if you let it take root. Much like a weed, it was something to pluck out on sight.

“Erendor,” Samara’s voice emptied the ballroom in his mind to leave them twirling to the sound of her words, “tomorrow morning is already buried under unfavorable circumstances to stack too many glasses on top of it as well.” She was ready to eradicate the perceived environment spawning the weeds in her garden even if her grip didn’t change in gentleness. It was her teeth that always broke his ego like she were a tiny dragon his gear couldn’t protect him from when she was already on the inside. She was the only one who’d witnessed him fighting the battles there was no armor for.

“I’ve only drunk enough to hold my warmth against the chill that wrapped my bones like vines today.” Indulgence had long relented to duty but it had been tradition that had stranded him out in the cold for the better half of the day. Even his attire hadn’t saved him from the bite of the weather outside the impenetrable walls of the palace that would fail to protect him too now that the damage was done and the endless heat of her proximity.

“Dancing ought to have taken over that function,” Samara leaned closer – for his benefit or for the words’ unclear but her hot breath hit his neck in a wave so pleasant it flooded his body with shivers inappropriate for the current venue. “Nobody says we have to put an end to the activity outside the ballroom.” It was her own benefit she was after but that had no negative bearing on him without space between them.

“I would love to take this to the bedroom,” a murmur had the strength to reach her even over the lively music that could have resonated through the whole kingdom if not for the vicious howl of the winds roaming the land outside like it was their own, “but the celebrations will carry well into the night regardless of the impending countdown.” It was the last dance before the minutes left for his voice to segue the end of the year into the booming display of fireworks luring into colorful visions of the upcoming days. “Even a new year only brings the same old issues.” They could dance to fill the hours stolen from their night but breakfast wouldn't move down the line because of the demand on their time or the sleep tugging at his body so harshly in contrast to her mellow touch.

“We’ll have a whole new year to catch up on what we miss tonight and tomorrow,” Samara looked at him as if to hold his gaze off the touch of a smirk to her lips that was almost shy in its presence. Almost probing enough to shoot down his spine a shiver from the cold metal covering her fingers like armor.

“Could I hope it would take you less time to relinquish your dominion over the covers?” She always cocooned herself in the heavy blankets like she wanted to hibernate outside the body heat next to her that wouldn't be there the following night. Coupled with her knack for transforming him into a careful heart within a paralyzed body when she’d wake up from a shift in his breathing, it left him sleeping with a whimsical force like the nature stone and glass strove to keep outside. “Say, once dancing isn’t an option for preserving body temperature anymore?” The only difference was that Samara was much more terrifying in the dead silence she could turn her presence into unlike the wailing of the winds banging against the shut-off palace. Yet, she was the one he welcomed willingly by his side to shield him from the void of cold she filled effortlessly.

The smile widened on her lips to welcome her voice into the cool air of publicness around them and him inside the sound soaking his mind to the core. “Just keep your hands on me at all times and you should be fine.” She adjusted her hand in his to ground him in the lightness of her softened grip now that she didn’t need the gold on her head or fingers to hold her in his arms.

“I wouldn’t argue with that but I have to make a toast in the near future. One I hope you will honor with me?” he didn’t drop her gaze even for a moment as he dipped her in an end to their dance. The last few minutes of the old year were slipping between their fingers, the last few touches, the last few words they’d get to exchange before responsibility possessed their lives. It could be nothing but bad luck to shatter that by misdirecting his attention to the slap in the face she could deliver with his hands full of her instead of his own protection.

“I will,” Samara’s answer glided over the puff rushing out of her to reach him as he brought her back up into the proximity of their faces. “You already indulged me.”

His gaze slid to the necklace outlining her delicate throat in the lack of her usual high collar and the silky gown that hugged the curve of her breasts tightly only to leave a generous amount of cleavage for the jewelry to contrast with, and, of course, the crown radiating light upon her head to make her the center of attention despite the companion piece he was wearing. It was the gift she’d given him that played in his mind, however.

* * *

_Gravity pulled on the jewelry box in his pocket with every step as if to weigh him down and slow him on top of the time he’d already lost on changing out of his parade uniform and into his royal attire and stopping by the safe to get her gift. The echo of his hurried step drilled into his mind with the undeniable anxiety he couldn't pin on one easy to dismiss thing. His only chance was to hide behind the shine of the brilliance in his pocket until he could anchor himself in Samara’s presence in the queen’s chamber and avoid getting carried away by the memories rocking his being._

_The history of the monarchy and his own family had been stained with a kidnapping that had cost the kingdom much more than his carefulness with Samara ever could. His mother had been abducted from the palace during his own birthday to leave an imprint on every future celebration. He had never forgiven his father for the helplessness he’d associated their family with in the eyes of the public and his own heart. It had been so easy to take the queen–a living woman and mother of children–let alone the crown meant to lay on his head and poking their affection away._

_Every step was like the prickle of the needles he hadn’t witnessed starting an embroidery that afternoon that he’d have to recapture in the next mosaic from the Path of Eraklyon. He’d doubled the guard like any other time they were all swallowed in the distractions of an official event but tradition still hadn’t been in his favor. Samara had been left with her ladies-in-waiting while he’d been out on the obligatory gemstone hunt._

_His dragon only hadn’t thrown him off its back due to the long years of training it had undergone while it had been Samara’s face in front of his eyes instead of the dragon’s reactions to lead him to the largest diamond he could find without infringing on Isis’ territorial claim to bring back to her._

_She’d endured the ceremony of “capturing” the wild dragons that would be tamed into joining the palace’s resources–they had been captured already a couple weeks ago and put through basic training to ensure safety during the official event–even though it prickled her the same way worry did him. Her knuckles had turned white from gripping the railing of the royal balcony so hard it had been visible from the arena below but to anyone without inside information it would have looked like concern for him and the soldiers attending to the dragons. His confidence in his skills and the performative nature of the ceremony left the truth shining from underneath the mask of rouge concealing the burn in her blood._

_Taming was a word her dictionary was extremely unreceptive of and the sweet scent of the flowers blooming all over the reins the dragons attempted to melt off could have had bile rising in her throat if it could have reached as high up as the smoke did while the animals thrashed in dramatic attempts to breathe fire through the vegetation suffocating them with every new flare of heat. It was an ancient tradition and one she found quite distasteful as she watched the blossoms that were already doomed to withering away–they’d been plucked and fashioned into elaborate harnesses of winter turned spring by the smallest of sparks–being forced into their most beautiful. The hunt for jewels would have been more her speed but her schedule had been occupied with embroidery of the event he’d picked to mark the year they’d just left in Eraklyon’s history. He’d had to leave her to it, alone in the palace with nothing but his planned defense against unexpected events to keep her safe while he was in pursuit of fulfilling a tradition as valuable as the gemstones he found would be without her waiting to receive them._

_The wood of her door was hard and cold under his knuckles. It was like knocking on a block of ice, except it wasn’t transparent and it left his pulse hammering in his ears to shatter the heavy, tense silence ready to bury him right there outside her bedchamber._

_“Enter,” Samara’s voice was like warm water that unstuck him from the floor and had the frost crunching under his fingers as he pushed the handle and cracked the door open._

_The sight streaming through the passage in her chamber he’d opened stopped him dead in his tracks in the doorway as if to plate him like a painting in a golden frame despite the fact that he’d returned to the palace with a ruby bigger than his fist. The bed was strewn with her jewelry, displayed for her to choose from. He’d expected a different chaos in the face of her maids catering to her high standards for her personal appearance and the glimmer of reflected sunset rays coming from her orchard of precious gemstones almost blinded him._

_“Harvest time is over.” He didn’t bother elaborating what she was perfectly capable of deciphering when a diamond wouldn’t be able to cut through her mind. Instead, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other and closing the door behind his back to settle in the self-created illusion that he was welcome in this shimmering kingdom obeying her will rather than nature’s._

_“I’m choosing the plant for next year,” Samara confirmed his standing, not employing her energy into a warning glare that he was on thin ice. He was on solid ground and could breathe freely without fear of white crystals bursting his veins to pieces from the inside._

_She reached into the sea of sharp splendor in front of her to pluck out a ring and slip it on her finger. The one with the two sapphires–a shade darker and more lasting than the evergreens poking the horizon outside to make space for them–he’d given her on their first anniversary was already on her hand. It was an exception for her not to wear it but it was always good to see it where it belonged. Even if the solid gold drew his attention to the prick in her delicate flesh above the ring’s imperviousness._

_The wound was so small that it would have disappeared in the expanse of skin around like a missing feather on a peacock but instead, it stood out like a gunshot in the intense red of blood on white marble. She must have pricked herself on a needle while creating the basis of an embroidery, depicting a success history would remember as his even if she had more claim over it than he did. It was her duty to draft on fabric the image he would later have immortalized in stone regardless of how skilled she was at it._

_Her mother hadn’t bothered to teach her what every girl in the kingdom could do in too common a craft to be considered a talent worthy of a beauty queen. Yet, the queen of Eraklyon was bound to it in tradition and she’d had to learn in the few months before her coronation. He’d watched her unravel as she’d failed to master it as if to use her own threads and make it easier for herself by manipulating her own matter to sew into the fabric. She’d bleed out if all the times she’d prickled herself and had yet to do it again were put together._

_“I would’ve thought that is something you would have taken care of already?” Combining patterns was a second nature unlike creating them and jewelry was a passion she carried around with herself at all times. It was unthinkable that something as simple as a few drops of blood drawn from her could make it slip through her fingers._

_“Normally, I would have but this is a little tradition of mine I keep to on the last day of the year,” Samara pried his jaws open with strength that had slipped his notice to keep him from eating his own mind and put hers between them instead. It could be another diversion born out of the blood she’d smelled as well._

_“What kind of tradition?” He hadn’t had the chance to learn the previous years when the privacy of his bedchamber had provided her frame and her honesty but not the environment in which she thrived, hidden in the shade from his gaze._

_“I lay out all my jewelry and pick to wear the most valuable pieces the year has provided.” He’d seen her put a lot of work in admiring her ever growing collection so that wasn’t hard to believe. It didn’t much help to comprehend it, though._

_“How can you tell which are the most valuable ones?” He’d grown up with both crowns in sight if not straining his sensibilities with their weight and he still couldn't tell their worth upon just looking. The dragons wouldn't be able to pick out the more precious stone between two just by sight. Maybe there truly was something more than just natural beauty to her._

_“That was easy back in the day,” Samara slipped away from him, diving after the sun that had set the sky on fire. If her life had been a day, he would have never seen a sunset caught in her irises, much less a sunrise. He would have met her in the dark hours preceding midnight to witness her beauty only in unnatural light or under the weak glow of the stars on a dusty sky at most. That was if the clouds hadn’t swallowed her whole like she was made of fractured light unable to pierce its way out of their intangible mass. “I just had to remember how unbearable an experience had followed receiving each one of them.”_

_“I don’t follow.” Not just because he’d drifted off into the void she’d outlined as her past. She’d practically tied her words to the strings of his mind as if she’d been born to do that. Maybe he could rewrite tradition to replace embroidery with tapestry to spare her from ever prickling herself again on anything that wasn’t his crown. And that he could always take off himself to remove the last thorn in her way._

_“The harder a role you need to play, the more intricate the mask you need to wear. And the more intricate the mask is, the more it demands – both in its making and its usage,“ Samara’s voice was deceptively light as she glided on the surface of whatever depths she avoided broaching in her mind to keep them both dry in the freezing cold of the settling night. “The brightest jewelry I always got at the threat of the mask cracking right when it needed to be as impenetrable as possible.” What had her mother put her up against on all of those stages she’d pushed her?_

_“Why would you need more reminders of that?” It had already gripped his mind, too, from where it had taken root in hers as she’d talked without being there with him. She’d spoken from the distance where she kept her gaze as well to not paint pictures of the past over the present regardless of them still haunting every image her eyes captured._

_“I didn’t. It was a statement of worth to others not to forget just because the reminders I already had were embedded where no one could see.” Considering all the wealth they’d redistributed once she’d stripped her family of it, she’d failed. Her mother hadn’t made it worth her troubles with everything she’d still had hoarded. But she didn’t need the cold bucket of water on her nerves any more than he did. “It was also an invitation for the next year to bring something better,” her hand balled into a fist as she grasped at the chance to run her thumb over the two sapphire beads adorning her finger before her palms slid over the skirt of her gown littered with dark blue gems that could have been cut from the lit sky above the palace as if they couldn’t shred her fragile skin. Just scrub off the remains of her maiden name from her being. “But that is no more. Now I have no idea which ones are the most valuable. There are no masks attached to the gems, just pure sentiment.” Her voice picked up to keep up with the speed of her gaze running over the precious display on her bed. “It disrupts my process almost to the point of resentment.”_

_He’d need something to steady himself as well if she kept the words crashing into him like waves of rich honey. Only, he wasn’t certain he’d make it all the steps to where she’d just clutched at the bedpost before bending over for a closer inspection. He’d fall over and at the foot of the bed if she pulled him a little closer with another almost in a covert confession._

_“What do you think?” Her eyes on him snapped his attention back to the material world he’d bought for her but all he could see was the invitation in her insistent gaze to be a part of her future. “Which ones should I wear?” It wasn’t something he could normally help with but this time he had an answer. As long as she’d take it._

_“Can I ask you to break tradition?” He pulled out the red velvet box under the anticipation in her stance to have her leaving the bed where all her old jewelry rested to come within reach now that he was giving away the weight that had kept him in place._

_A whole garden of diamonds was in his hands to hang on her neck and live for as long as she wanted it to, as long as she welcomed it on her skin. The jewels were whiter than the clouds of breath forming in the harsh temperatures outside and small like the grains the kingdom fed on and she didn’t eat but still shined like mirrors bathed in the light of her smile._

_Samara turned around, urging him silently to clasp it around her neck in a hold even the crown didn’t have on her as it could slip off at any moment. Her hand was running over it before he’d even fastened it in place, the motion sending him off balance as it shook him with relief amidst the quietness of her admiration. He had to rest his palms on her shoulders to find his way through the rhythm the day was spinning to._

_Samara covered his hand with hers to pull it off and allow herself to face him instead of the mirror. “I wouldn't mind breaking an old tradition for the new year but since you fit right in, there’s no need for such drastic measures. It could use some reshaping, though.”_

_He was still stuck on processing the meaning of her words when she leaned in and pressed her lips against his. Just a quick peck that ran through his body like fire as fast as she was out of his reach and settling in front of her vanity. It was just the softness of her naked lips against his and the still palpable warmth of her fingers where she’d held his hand that lingered behind like a gem for him to stash in the depths of his mind where no weight–physical or not–would be able to leave it in angry shards blazing with fire._

_“Didn’t you switch to a new lipstick just a couple of weeks ago?” he asked once she was already applying the burgundy over her lips, his brain taking longer to react while collecting the memories she was weaving the last day of the year into._

_Samara paused to return the effort he’d put in paying her the due attention even though it had only been natural to note the different shade of the marks her kisses left behind. “Yes, I did. But I always open a new make-up kit on New Year’s Eve.” And she’d already applied all the rest of her beauty products before he’d arrived. Almost as if she’d been waiting for his visit or at least hoping for it. Either that, or she’d just wanted to keep the lipstick as fresh as possible before heading to the ballroom for the long night ahead. Yet, there was no trace of the silence she used to distance herself in contrast to the quiet life of a kiss between them._

_“Another tradition?” That was clear but he needed an excuse for her lips to breathe more color into their conversation._

_“Don’t you have some?” she shot back at him but her intonation wasn’t sharp enough to point to exasperation, even if she was too quick for his scattered attention that was in more pieces than there were on her bed._

_Did he?_

_“I pick gifts for my wife.”_

_Another pause as Samara’s lips parted to a frozen moment–she must have caught herself from licking off the lipstick–before she spoke. “That is not a New Year’s Eve tradition if you do it throughout the rest of the year as well.”_

_“Then I suppose I’m boring.” He was lucky to have come up with an answer at all while transfixed with the shimmer of her eyes not warped even in reflection. It’d be a crime not to give her jewels to put next to it for them to pale in comparison with the real beauty she’d grown in the dark._

_“Consistent, I would say.” Her gaze slid over the room in the mirror and he followed it, unable to turn to the real one if it meant letting her out of his sight. It was still clear as day where her mind treaded even in the shadows creeping around the room with each second they remained too preoccupied with each other to get the lights._

_All the leftover illumination from the day and the shine of the space bodies just coming into view was captured by the jewelry he’d given her to turn each piece into a lighthouse of its own in the waves of silk on her bed. He’d gifted her quite a high number in the couple of years they’d been married but they still weren’t enough to replace electricity or even the glow of fire._

_It was him that was doing the impossible – counting jewelry instead of coins when the monarchy was as stable as Samara’s taste for precious gemstones and noble metals. Nothing was shaking under his feet or threatening to crumble on his head in the quietness of her bedchamber. Not even the weight of the earrings dangling from his palm could throw him off balance as he brought the long stemmed calla lilies to her attention and she let him add their tender white and gold to her look._

* * *

The music ended just as Erendor found his footing in the dance with exhaustion. He didn’t let go of Samara’s waist for another couple of seconds until he could steady himself outside the rhythm of her body swaying with his. There were just minutes still from the year they were leaving behind their backs and he had to let go of her on the precipice and risk separation in the name of an obligatory speech and toast. It was so trivial it would have brought out tears if he allowed it but she was queen because he was king and his only choice was to obey the law that had brought them together.

He held her hand until the armrest of his throne was within reach to numb the emptiness of letting go. His reluctant fingers almost retreated from the coolness of the glass with champagne when he would much prefer her company over that of the alcohol sloshing around in its confinement without grace. Especially when the smooth coldness of the glass reminded him of his chase of hard gems outside in the freezing weather and made him feel like the first idiot but the diamonds shining on her neck and the metal warmed up by her skin that had been pressed in his fingers not long ago burned the thought away. They brought the speech to his lips when it had been her touch weaving it in his mind all year in a way that he’d never been able to before. In a way she’d never been able to before with the heavy jewelry dragging her heart and hands into the depths to drown her grace in the spillage of her own blood.

There was nothing but her own decision holding her tongue now to free her from the image of the dragons harnessed for someone else’s purposes. And he could tell the story of their monarchy now that they’d pried it free from everyone else’s control. It was theirs so there was nothing stopping him from leaning towards her during the cheer of the guests and the thumping of his own heart in unheard applause for her kept promise to meet the new year together with him.

“What a shame to see such waste of lipstick on your glass.” She’d barely sipped enough to leave the shape of her lips on the glass and his mind rendering him incapable of noticing anything else.

“I have plenty of lipstick left to spare, remember?” Her tradition made a lot more sense now. “And there is not a force in this kingdom greater than us that could take away our first kiss of the year.” He could count on her promise regardless of how long it would take them to keep it.

“Happy New Year,” he took her hand again to feel a warmth even the dragons didn’t have to offer.

“Happy New Year.” She smiled again to blind him to anything the world could serve them next – even the sun crashing on their heads.

The fireworks exploded outside the windows to change the pattern of the light streaming through but even in the lack of consistency, his brain recognized one heat signature like it was the center of the universe.


End file.
